


Bloom

by MeanYoonKink



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Self-Discovery, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeanYoonKink/pseuds/MeanYoonKink
Summary: When dawn finally came, Yeosang bloomed.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang
Kudos: 30





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Feiredwjsy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feiredwjsy/gifts).



> soooo, here I am back with another random drabble. This time inspired by Lauren babic's cover of "lovely". Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (Note that english isn't my first language)

Yeosang had been a dreamer.

He had fought his way out of high school first, and college then, with his eyes set on the prize.  
He had dreamed of a life tailored for him and tethered to his every wish, only to open his eyes to his moldy ceiling. At first it had been fine, because Wooyoung’s arms around him had been enough to reassure him, to let him know they would be fine eventually.

Wooyoung’s back looked so distant now, and Yeosang was tired.

Some force dragged him through his morning routine, maybe habit, but not will, and a pitiful bus ride later, he was at work.  
He had taken up small jobs as he went, waiting for his chance, always ready, but nothing ever happened. So he stacked up meaningless experiences so high they had choked him, his dream long forgotten, until he couldn’t care anymore.

“-so we’re going to have to let you go.”

Yeosang was oh, so tired.

He wanted to remember who he’d been so bad, he wanted to remember what he used to see in those cold, scorching, dull skyscrapers. Now they were closing in on him, cutting the oxygen out of his lungs and mashing his bones until he had no way out.

The air tasted bitter on his tongue as he made his way back that night. Back where to, he wasn’t all that sure.

Streetlights, cars, passers-by, everything seemed to speed up suddenly, and Yeosang ran, tried desperately to catch up, fought for each and every breath, grasping for more, reaching out-

Suddenly a flash, screeching, burnt rubber.

Then nothing.

Yeosang decided then and there he wasn’t in that much of a hurry anyway, that he could rest, he could cry.

Just this once.

Finally, like a night-blooming cereus, his lungs opened back up, letting the cool air in.  
Yeosang counted his breaths until they came easy, then got up.

He didn’t remember crouching on the sidewalk, but that hardly surprised him. He looked around in a poor attempt to orient himself, but the street had completely emptied, it felt void.  
He wandered lazily, his mind finally quiet, feet on the cement and eyes on the moon, for once not too shy to show in between the buildings. When he grew tired, he sat on a bench at some park he didn’t remember ever visiting.  
He probably should have been wondering where everyone had gone, but he didn’t really care, and he was too tired to anyway. Some part of him wondered when he’d gotten so lost.

Maybe a moment, maybe a decade later, something touched his abandoned hand, distracting him from- well, nothing.  
Yeosang looked at the black cat as it played with his fingers, mewling insistently at him.

“Were you lonely?”

That was not what he remembered his voice to sound like.  
It didn’t really matter.  
The cat chewed in his sleeve with more confidence, pulling.

“I don’t have any treats on me, sorry.”

The cat mewled again, louder.

“What do you want me to do, then?”

The cat somehow looked annoyed, as if it had been trying to explain basics to an idiot.  
In hindsight, it probably was.

“Want me to follow you?”

The cat gave a last, insistent pull, and jumped off the bench.  
Yeosang didn’t move, and received a pointed, feline look.

“Yep, I’ve finally lost it.”

He got up, sighing.

“Lead the way then.”

Maybe a moment, maybe a decade later, the cat stopped in front of a… shop of sorts, directed him another purposeful mewl, and jumped in through the window.  
Yeosang inspected the wooden door, it was nothing special, the shop itself looked like it had been squeezed by force in between two buildings, but from inside, warm light bled into the street.  
There was no signboard, and a reasonable amount of the front was covered in climbing plants- wisteria maybe?

Yeosang wasn’t looking forward to being arrested for breaking into some weird shop in the middle of the night, but something told him that was his stop, so he got off the train.

A quire of windchimes announced his entrance in the little bubble of summer, followed by a satisfied mewl. The whole place was stacked full of… things: the absolute majority was plants of every guise or manner, every single surface carried at least one form of greenery; a literal tree branch poked inside from a window that revealed the existence of a back garden. Littered in between was, well, anything really. Bottles, books, utensils, toys. Some looked somewhat familiar, others felt foreign and haunted.  
Yeosang roamed around in a trance, his fingers glazed the leaves and petals without ever touching, as if he were a puppet guided by god knows whose will.  
From somewhere in the back, a distant melody painted the air in soft hues, both familiar and intangible.

Then someone moved, something broke, and Yeosang flinched. 

When his skin touched the aster’s petals, the harmony broke, and everything broke out in laughter, warmth, and the familiarity that came with Hongjoong the day he barged into his life. Or rather, when Yeosang barged in his, becoming his next-door neighbour.  
He hadn’t been to fond of him at first, annoyed at his mom for having to play with a younger kid, but, as Yeosang was lucky to learn, Hongjoong was one to warm up easily to pretty much anyone.  
He had introduced him to most of his friends from school, had taught him how to paint and how to draw stars all pretty and symmetrical like he did. Hongjoong was always the first to know everything about him, either by instinct or direct experience, and he was always there for him no matter what, be it egging the math teacher’s car on his last day of high school, or asking his crush to one of those sloppy college parties.  
Yeosang was suddenly hit by a wave of… everything: regret for drifting apart, longing, -

“Whoa, there tiger. You’re not supposed to just- do that.”

A tanned hand covered his, pulling him away from the shelf, and, gently, guiding him to a chair. In front of a table. Oddly void of vegetation. And the cat. On the table. The table that hadn’t been there before. He was sure. Was he? Maybe that table had been there all along, after all-

“Hey, hey, hey. Calm down. It’s all good, Yeosang, you’re okay.

Her voice coaxed him out the weird trance he was in.

“Breathe for me, you’re okay.”

Yeosang obliged.

“Good, just like that. Nero? Tea.”

“Nero?” for the second time that day, Yeosang found he couldn’t recognize his own voice.

“Your guide, the cat.”

“Right.”

“No rush, m-“

“Is the cat making tea?”

She giggled like flowers,

“Is he? Does that matter, Yeosang?”

He took his surroundings in once more, and the panic coursed through him easily, leaving behind quiet once more.

“I- suppose not. What- I, What is going on?”

She smiled at him, sitting back and letting go of his hand. Lilac asters bloomed in her eyes.

“You got lost, and you were found.” She said it as it were obvious, of course he’d understand, right? Well, Yeosang felt a bit stupid, but he really didn’t understand.

“So… do I go back now?”

She put a warm cup in his hands. Warm milk, lots of honey. His favourite. Wait-

“No, not yet. You have to change, first.”

“Change how?”

“That’s for you to decide. Drink, we’ll talk later, yes?” freesia petals fell from somewhere in her hair. It was long, no, short, curly, straight, bright red waves hit the floor, a black braid leant on his shoulders. She looked as intangible as she sounded, forgettable and majestic both, but neither. After maybe a moment, maybe a decade, Yeosang decided she simply was, and she was not. But no, it didn’t really matter. 

Yeosang drank his warm milk with lots of honey. Way too sweet, would say Hongjoong.

“Tell me more about him, will you?”

“About who?”

“Hongjoong, your childhood friend – more freesias bloomed between her lips – is that the person the asters reminded you of?”

“…he’s, like an older brother, I think. I don’t know.”

“But you do, clearly.” Her hand reached out again, but her fingertips grew soft lilac and pink bulbs as she moved. They bloomed and withered in the span of seconds.

“I think I, no, I have. I left him behind. Because I couldn’t reach him. Or rather, I couldn’t- my dream.”

“What is your dream?”

Yeosang had the answer on the tip of his tongue, it was easy, right? His dream, the one thing he had devoted his own life for, he should know.  
He didn’t.

“I forgot.”

“I see. - she took a long sip from her cup, presumably tea- So that’s what you lost.”

“What do you mean?”

“See, people don’t just come and go here whenever, Yeosang. It’s my duty: Nero brings me people who lost something important, and I help them find it, or replace it.  
That’s why you’re here.”

Her skin bloomed achillea like freckles. Seonghwa.

“Oh? Someone else?”

“how do you know?”

She smiled impossibly sweet “I bloom with you. Your memories, your emotions, everything is here. That’s why you remembered your childhood friend all of a sudden before, that memory was your first encounter.”

“How can that be, you- “

“How can any of this be, Yeosang? This is all your doing, I’m hardly more than a keeper.”

“Then you should already know Seonghwa.”

“Oh, I do. But do you? To move forward you have to leave something behind. Or, you can go back. Not the way you came through, thought. To decide which way to go, you need to remember what you lost. There’s no other way past here, Yeosang.”

“…You must let yourself get worse to get better.”

“Exactly.”

Yeosang set his empty cup down on the table, and Nero settled comfortably on his lap.

“Seonghwa… He was Hongjoong’s friend, he is protective and worries a lot. We called him mom a lot.”

“Where is he now?”

“I’m not sure. Last I heard he worked in sales in some company. He looked… content.”

“Don’t you miss them?”

“Do I? I think I do. But after all, I was the one to leave them behind.”

“Why?”

Why. Good question. At first, he was just always busy with this and that job, but refusing get togethers had become a habit, and they eventually just stopped inviting him.

“it was just- so hard. To juggle everything, to keep in touch, to face them and still not having achieved anything.”

That was right, everything moved, and he stilled. Had he always been like that?

“Anyone else?” gladiolus sprouted from her chest faster than he could speak.

“San. Oh my god, he’s a piece of work. He’s a dancer, he’s always been and will always be. Body and soul, a dancer. But his mind? An asshole. A prankster, never still, always- he’s so chaotic.”

“How did you meet?”

“Middle school, he run me over with his bike, bought me a slushie as an apology, then tripped on me and made me spill it all. I think I cried.”

She laughed, “Do you still keep in touch?”

“Somewhat. He’s always busy. He hasn’t really made it big, but it’s big enough for him, and he’s happy.”

“are you envious of him?”

“Incredibly so. But he makes so easy, so- Jasmine, this time around her neck- Yeah, Mingi too, he’s like that.”

“Like what?”

“like he will fall off balance the moment he stops running. Like the whole world is spinning and he is too. God, I haven’t seen him in years.”

“How so?”

“He moved abroad after graduation, and whenever he can visit I just- don’t.”

“Because they left you behind. They didn’t wait for you.”

“…My timing was always a little off.”

“I wouldn’t say so. It was simply different; you have your own pace. And that’s okay.”

“but I can’t ask them to wait for me always, now, can I”

“No, You can’t. but some did anyway. Did they not?” 

Euphorbia bloomed around their feet, tall enough to crown the table.

“Yunho. He is… gentle. But also chaotic, in an endearing kind of way. He gets really competitive for the silliest things, but he’s always there for us, no matter what. I think he’s studying for his masters or something. He has always been very hardworking.”

“You seem rather fond of him.” more euphorbia. Yeosang hated that he couldn’t lie.

“He was, uh, somewhat my first love? Like not really but- my first crush, I guess.”

“I see.”

No other questions, she was letting him decide where to take the conversation. Astrantia.

“I met Jongho in high school. Extremely quiet, even more competitive. An overachiever, really. He’s become a rather well-known pianist.”

Bloom got up despite the flowers wrapping around her, rummaged in the shelves, and set a small ceramic vase on the table. It was quite beautiful, hand painted with silvery constellations.

“Do you think you understand what it is that you lost?”

“No, not yet.”

“there’s more, then.”

“Peonies.”

“Correct.” The flowers bloomed slower than the others, but much more numerous: they were everywhere, they grew and withered constantly on her figure. Bloom offered him the vase.

“It’s up to you what you plant here, Yeosang.”

Yeosang knew full well whose memories those peonies were. He had been there in the back of his mind the whole time, but he struggled to grasp him.  
He had met Wooyoung in a club. Hongjoong had brought him there for his birthday, everyone else tagging alone. Yeosang had missed most of the banter, too entranced to notice it. Wooyoung danced with sin heavy on his hips, but his eyes held a gentleness he yearned to earn with a greed he hadn’t known himself capable of.  
Wooyoung kissed like cherries and hugged like the sun, he smiled like peonies and he had hurt him so much he didn’t anymore.  
Maybe Yeosang didn’t remember what his dream was, but he remembered the night in Wooyoung’s arm imagining their future, and he knew he was always in it.  
His cheeks had been warm and flushed then, now they were warm and moist from tears, and Yeosang wondered how he could let himself forget just how much him- no, they. How could he forget how much they all meant to him?

“I know. I know what I need.” He held onto the vase for dear life as Bloom lead him into the back garden, smiling again, but warmer.

“What will it be, then? Backwards, or forwards?”

“Forwards, with them, if they’ll let me.”

Bloom took the vase and stepped back. The flowers withered on her skin, but didn’t grow back.

“I’m sure they will.”

Yeosang held his breath as the roots grew from her legs.

“My dream is to be happy, with them, with Wooyoung. I don’t care where I end up anymore. Whatever I wanted before, I just don’t anymore. I want to know I did my best, always. I want to make Wooyoung smile again, and laugh with everyone. I want to go back, and to keep moving forward. Together.”

She bloomed and withered a thousand times, or maybe just a couple, it didn’t matter. Yeosang watched himself grow up in his memories, and made sure to thank each and every person that ever accompanied him anyway in his mind.

When he came to, a small plant was in the vase in his hands.

“Remember, nightshade blooms at dawn.”

He jolted awake from a sleep that may have lasted just a second, or maybe a decade.  
He was in a bed he didn’t recognize, clothed in a nightgown that didn’t feel like it was his, his leg in a cast and bruised all over.

So that was why he couldn’t remember getting to the pavement.

The head of messy black hair on his lap, thought, he did recognize.  
Yeosang let Wooyoung sleep, treading his fingers through his hair.

They had a lifetime to talk, they could rest tonight.

Then, after so much time, with a broken leg and a concussion, Yeosang let himself finally believe wholeheartedly that someday, together, they would be okay.


End file.
